


Letters

by nozenfordaddy (fenna_girl)



Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-12-19
Updated: 2009-12-19
Packaged: 2017-10-04 15:36:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fenna_girl/pseuds/nozenfordaddy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A friendship traced through the memories of one man.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Letters

**Author's Note:**

  * For [FooFighter0234](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FooFighter0234/gifts).



> Thanks to my fabulous betas, you know who you are :D

Hauguenau 1945

Malarkey woke before the rest of the men in his squad. They were scattered all over the OP, wherever they could find somewhere to drop their kits but he could hear them breathing together in the steady rhythm of sleep, a single sound broken by the occasional cough or rustle of movement.

It was cold, but he had been colder in the woods, he tossed his blanket over Lieb as he rose sharing the lingering heat of his body for as long as it lasted and moved to the window. The sky was a hazy purple grey, pretty, reminded him of home and he wished he knew the name of the river that was all that stood between them and Germany.

Out of habit he glanced at his watch; the platoon had been without a Lieutenant since Buck had been taken off the line and somehow that meant he had seniority until they found some fresh faced youngster to take command. He rifled his pockets for a cigarette - slid his hand into one pausing when he felt the envelope he’d had there since their mail had started coming through again.

He slowly pulled it out, turned the beat up envelope over in his hand and then turned it again, his thumb grazed the smudged name there, Warren Muck; it was blurred from his touch. He shoved it back in his pocket before lighting the smoke.

“Sweet Faye Tanner.” He muttered, taking a deep drag on his cigarette, he wished the letter had never come.

*

Camp Toccoa 1942

“Mail call!” Winters’ form filled the doorway, a tall and tireless silhouette despite every ounce of torture Sobel dished out. The men would hate him except he wasn’t the sort of man you hated, never asked for more than he gave and did what he could to soften the pettiness of their CO.

“Malarkey!” His voice boomed, and Don groaned from his prone position on his bunk.

“I can’t move.” He complained. Muck laughed and thumped him on the chest.

“I got it. I’m expecting a letter from Faye.” His name was called and he clapped his hands together looking for an instant like a boy rather than a man preparing for war bouncing to his feet to go get his mail.

“Ain’t nothing like a dame ta put a spring in yer step, eh Joe,” Guarnere said returning with his own mail, Toye snorted sitting on his bunk, shining his boots.

“That’s not his step.” They were still laughing when Skip dropped an envelope on Malarkey’s head. Don tore it open without sitting up, every inch of him hurt, and scanned the news from home, everybody was doing well, they missed him, his mom worried.

“Mmmm honeysuckle.” Skip was sprawled on his bunk sniffing his letter.

“You gonna smell it or read it?” Toye tossed his socks at the other man and Muck batted them away.

“I’m savoring.”

“Ya hear that Don?” Guarnere dropped onto Malarkey’s bed and he groaned as it jostled tired aching muscles. “He’s savoring.”

“Quit savoring, and read the damn thing.”

“Sorry boys, this here is a one hundred percent grade A private kind of letter. Way too good for the likes of you. Faye’s not just a good time for on a weekend pass.” He sniffed it again and tore it open, ignoring the good natured teasing as he pulled out a rosary, he tucked the gift in his pocket and smiled as he read his letter.

*

Hauguenau 1945

The new Lieutenant looked too young to be shaving but he couldn’t have been more than a year, maybe two, younger than Don himself. Eager to please, and asking all the questions he was supposed to ask.

He couldn’t help but stare at the man’s uniform, wondering if his own had ever been so green, now it was faded and tattered like everything else that had been here the whole time. Hell even the man’s helmet was shiny.

“They haven’t made any attempts to cross the river?” It caught his attention, the inanity of it, for a second he wasn’t sure the man had even asked.

“No,” he said slowly, formulating a response that wouldn’t get the West Pointer’s skivvies in a bunch. “They have a roof over their heads sir, just like us. I don’t think anyone wants to do anything stupid. Right?”

“Can’t speak to that Sergeant.” He clear his throat and Malarkey’s stomach sank, he could see it coming before it hit. “There’s a patrol tonight, Captain Speirs has selected some of the men. Yourself and a few others.”

He nodded, filing the names away as the Lieutenant rattled them off but he was looking out the window again at the house across the river instead of paying full attention. So much for a roof.

*

Aldbourne 1944

“I’ll be seeing you…” Much couldn’t carry a tune if you handed it to him in his reserve chute bag, and Malarkey winced, shouldering his friends weight as they headed back from the enlisted men’s club.

“You don’t shut the hell up we won’t be seeing anything because the Captain will ding us so hard we won’t be seeing leave again until Hitler decides to give up.” He chided, the night was quiet, the whole town was quiet and the last thing they needed was to get a drunk and disorderly just before shipping out again.

“What’s in Holland anyway?” Skip complained, more quietly. He’d been asking variations on that question since the newly minted First Sergeant had announced it.

“Germans, I assume.” Malarkey wasn’t much in the mood for joking, or answering, even if he had answers.

“How am I supposed to ask her to wait,” Muck sounded suddenly sober and Malarkey paused and looked at him.

“Something tells me you don’t have to ask,” from everything he’d heard from his friend his sweetheart wasn’t the sort you needed to worry would run off with a 4F. “You love her?”

“Since I was six years old.” Muck didn’t even hesitate. Don nodded.

“We got the rest of the weekend leave before we start briefings. You’ll get some sleep. Write her a letter and tell her that – better than asking her to wait. We’ll ditch More and take the bike to the shore tomorrow before we got to be back.”

Muck gave him a long steady look and nodded.

“Good plan, except I’m not riding on that French death trap.”

*

Hagenau 1945

The hot water was a treat, even if he did feel a little bit like livestock, standing in his underwear with a half dozen other men as water poured over chilled skin. It didn’t help the bone deep cold. The weariness that made him feel eighty instead of twenty three.

Malarkey dried off and pulled a uniform on that was as clean as they got these days, he stomped his feet into the snow, staving off some of the cold as he looked up at the sky. The blue looked odd and out of place. He pulled the letter out of the pocket of his coat and couldn’t help but bring it to his nose.

Honeysuckle. Faint, but still there. He closed his eyes and inhaled again, imagined himself back home for a moment instead of where he was. He tucked the envelope back into his pocket, pushing his hands deep and shivered as a cold breeze hit his damp hair. He hadn’t been warm since they passed that sign reading Bastogne, and he didn’t know if he ever would be again.

But he was alive and in one piece, which was more than he could say about his buddies, he had Skip’s rosary – what was left – in his boot. Someday he figured he’d send it back to Faye, or maybe to his friends mother – since there hadn’t been anything else to send home, but for now the shape of it as he walked made him feel less alone.

“Sergeant Malarkey.” He suppressed a sigh and faced the new Lieutenant.

“Yessir,”

*

Bastonge 1945

Taking a breath he walked through the canvas door and took in the sight before him. He’d never seen an active aid station, never had the need. Doctors and medics were everywhere, but so were others, the noise seemed raucous compared to the silence in the woods.

He walked down the row of beds, and tried not to see Toye and Guarnere in each one – tried not to see Muck who they’d not found enough of to send to an aid station. He kept his eyes on his platoon leader, his Lieutenant, his brother in arms, his friend. His hair stood out, set him apart from the rest. That was always the first thing you saw, followed by a sense of size, but now his friend seemed so very small.

Malarkey sat the other man turned to him for a moment, eye red rimmed, skin pallid – looked more like a dead man than Malarkey had ever seen breathing. Mail had started coming again, and he had a stack to deliver, dropping some off at regimental to be sent back home, dropping some at the aid station to follow men to the hospital – like some demented postman until he’d gotten down to his final two.

He offered the letter and Buck shifted away, turned his back, and brought a hand up to scrub it over his face. No other reaction, not even as Don opened it and started to read.

“Dear Lynn,” From his mom then, no one else dared call the center forward by his given name.

He was halfway through, and a mention about all his young men got a reaction, he covered the letter with his hand, crumpled it and crushed it against Don’s fist, squeezing slightly. For a moment Malarkey expected his friend to sit up, to be himself again but the moment passed and he just let go and pulled his arm back as he turned his body from Malarkey.

Don folded the letter and slipped it into his friend’s pocket wordlessly. For later. For when Buck was better. He sat quietly with him until the truck came to shuttle the ambulatory ones back to the hospital, he turned his last letter over in his hand, tracing the name until it started to smudge.

*

Hagenau 1945

Dear Faye,

I don’t know if Skip ever mentioned me, Don Malarkey – platoon sergeant, and I’m not certain you’ll have been notified of his death but I hope his family told you. Skip and me we were together since Toccoa, nearly every damn day for three years. I was his friend; his best friend after you.

The rest of our platoon, what’s left of it, is out on patrol. So I’m sitting up, waiting for them and I couldn’t find an excuse not to write.

I got your last letter to him; I’ve enclosed it here – unread. Been carrying it around with me for nearly a month trying to decide what to do about it. Regimental would have forwarded it back to you, but that seemed too cold for a girl who scents her letters with honeysuckle.

He was a brave man, and a good soldier. He died calling another man to cover. Doesn’t make it better, or eve worth it, but it’s the sort of man he was. I assume you already know that part of him but what I’m not sure you know that Skip loved you.

Don’t know if he ever told you – but he told me and I wanted to make sure you’d heard it.

Not sure where we’re going next, but if you have any questions about Skip you can send me a letter. I’ll promise to answer it sooner next time.

Don Malarkey

Sergeant

Easy Company - 2nd Battalion

506th Parachute Infantry Regiment

101st Airborne Division

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a bit of trivia I read somewhere about how Malarkey and Muck's sweetheart exchanged letters after his death.


End file.
